To Move On
by idina
Summary: Hi. I bet you weren't expecting to recieve a letter from me. I didn't expect I'd write one either... but in life, you never really know what you're gonna get.


Hi.

I bet you probably weren't expecting to receive a letter from me. I didn't expect I'd write one either, until now. It always seemed like a pretty stupid idea. I mean, I don't even know your address, your telephone number, what you do, whether you're married, whether you have other children. How am I supposed to mail it? Do you have an email address, a Splashface account, a Twitter page, an IM? I don't even know your last name, so how am I supposed to find you?

For 16 years, all I've known is your first name. Mom says it sometimes, when she's completely knocked out and floating away in dreamland; when she gets careless on a date and lets it slip after more than a few shots of Bacardi; when she's angry at me and says that I probably got that one trait from you, that no way it came from her.

Roger—it's a nice name. When I was younger, I would watch bird-parents regurgitate food for their chicks, or fathers throw footballs to their kids in the park, or watch them gush with concern over their kid's scraped knee after a fall, and I would say your name slowly, rolling it over my tongue for a taste, over and over again, trying to picture you.

Was it because you weren't ready to be a dad, or because you didn't want to get married, that you left? Try as I might, I couldn't imagine having a father to take care of me. I couldn't imagine cautiously climbing onto a bike as you held the handles and held my hand and told me that you'd catch me if I fell. I couldn't imagine my face lighting up with glee as you passed me a full cone of fudge-and-nut-topped vanilla ice cream. I couldn't imagine you bouncing me in your lap as you told me how, as a child, you'd single-handedly scared away the scariest, biggest, most toughest monster in the closet, so there was no way anything would dare to attack me. I couldn't imagine you tucking me in and holding me safe and kissing me on the forehead and saying 'Goodnight, sweetheart', like all the other fathers do. I've only seen one picture of you, taken when you were only my age. It's sitting on Mom's chest of drawers, right now, as I write, like it has been for 16 years. I don't have a clue what you look like now.

Another reason why I wouldn't write this letter for so long—what would be the point? What was I expecting, that you'd come back to see me and Melanie and we'd have a great, joyous, tearful family reunion, one happy family of four again? I'm not even sure I want that. You probably have your own family and your own life now, and so do we, even if I've missed out on fatherly love. I still have reason to believe I grew up fine without it. But in a situation like this, one can't help but wonder about all the 'ifs' and daydream about what could've been, even if it does scare me to think about it.

Urgh, now I'm starting to sound all philosophical and nubbish, like Freddie. Fredward's my second best friend (best goes to Carlotta), and a 100% Nerd. He lost his father when he was young (I won't say 'too'), when he was too young to remember what he was like, and ever since his mother (the yuckiest woman you could ever meet) shared with him 'the story or their love', he's been wondering about his dad and what it might be like if he was still around. That's one thing we have in common. Another thing is that he's the tech-producer of a webshow hosted by Carly and me. iCarly—I wonder if you've ever seen it? Maybe your kids watch it. It's CRAZY fun, being on that show. I know I can't do it forever, but it's nice to dream, you know? Sort of like gazing up at the sky every night and day even though your wings aren't fully fledged yet, just imagining what it'd be like to spread them wide and soar through the clouds effortlessly with the wind on your face, almost high enough to touch the shining rays of sunlight that illuminate the sky.

I've never been particularly good at school. The only things that interest me, so far, are acting and cooking, but even then I wonder how far that will take me in life. It's scary to think that I'm already pass the carefree, golden years. It's like being a dolphin, but a dolphin bred in the zoo. You know there's one entirely different world out there, one where there are no cages and ogling visitors and designated feeding times. Instead, there are coral reefs, other fish, tidal waves, colour and beauty. You can always see the glorious, rippling water of the oceans above your head, and you think that in those waters is where you can finally be your own person. But finally, when they set you free to roam into the huge seas in a world you have never been allowed to explore before, it's bigger and scarier than you thought. It's intimidating and unfamiliar, nothing like the world of sweet freedom you imagined, lurking with cunning sharks and foreign wildlife and creatures that are much, much bigger than you. Too late, you've realized that the whole time you were daydreaming about the outside world, you never really learnt how to swim well enough to face the danger that crept in it, and now you just can't outrun them, so instead they swallow you whole. Then, you wonder whether staying in captivity and becoming the family favourite would've been a better path.

Metaphors have always fascinated me. They have an artful way of hiding the truth, but baring them in plain sight at the same time. Maybe I should consider becoming a writer. Too bad I spent the majority of English classes snoring away, or I might've learned to write properly, like Melanie. Did Mom ever tell you she was having twins? Maybe not… that would've just been adding fuel to the fire. I'm not sure she even knew, at the time, that after Melanie, there'd be me. I understand it may be a bit shocking to suddenly realize that you've got two other kids roaming around on the Earth (then again, you've never acknowledged us as your daughters… why would you do it now?). Suffice to say, Melanie was first in line for brains and beauty, and eventually she got the first ticket to a fancy boarding school in Boston. Me, all I've got is guts, laughter, Mom, and a junk-shed house in Seattle. That's where we live now.

Mom would never tell me how or where she met you, just that she was 22 and you were 17, and don't-ever-make-that-same-mistake (but I don't like to think of it as a mistake. If it were, I wouldn't be here, would I?). I might get pretty close though. Did I mention I've been arrested thrice and been in juvy once, when I was just 11? You could say I'm not the model daughter, like Mel, but I always liked to imagine that you weren't the model, law-abiding man either. That wherever you were, you would see me lying through my teeth to a teacher of a principal or even a cop, without flinching, and you would smile and think 'that's my girl' (but I suppose I'm not really 'your girl', huh). But all this while, I've been afraid to go and find you. It wasn't that I was afraid you wouldn't want to see me (I wasn't gonna show up right in your face anyway), but that you'd turn out to be completely different from what I expected. Someone alien.

I guess you could say I was afraid you would break my heart, like you broke Mom's. Now someone who knew me well would say, "Sam Puckett, afraid of something?" but someone who knew me better would think that it's all just a façade, that inside I might as well be applesauce, mush. Not that I'm weak or anything (I keep smiling every day no matter what, don't I?), but I am. For so long, I was afraid of the day I would finally break down under the pressure of it all, because even the toughest MMA stars are afraid of _something._ Carly likes to call it my 'definitive point'; after all, we aren't defined by what we can do, but what we can't do. We won't be remembered by what we have—instead, others will pick at our faults and shortcomings and say, "hey, she looks like she has everything she wants, but her mother's a slutty waster and her father's hightailed it out of the family".

But whatever. I'm not expecting you to reply or anything, because that's practically impossible. As Freddie would describe it, it would be "setting myself up for a heartbreak". Did I mention that Freddie was my first kiss? It freaked Carly out _so much_—I mean, we're practically at each other's throats every single day, 24/7. It's a pretty shoddy reason to give each other our "sacred first kiss". It was the least I owed him anyway, after I made him the No. 1 Loser in Seattle by revealing that he hadn't kissed anyone yet. Did you watch that episode? I've played so many pranks on him already, but that was the first time I've really apologized. Carly says I should do it more often.

Carly's the only reason I haven't thrown my life into drugs or cutting or bulimia or some equally horrible crap, and she's also the reason I haven't been expelled yet or arrested since 8th grade. She is, in a way, a girl-next-door, goody-two-shoes, but even those labels don't capture what she really is. She's spontaneous and crazy and full of fun ideas. She's... well, there really isn't an adjective to describe her. She's the girl that everyone would like to know, that every guy would like to fall head over heels with. Most of all, she understands me. She has an awesome (though a little weird) older brother named Spencer—they live in a loft sort of apartment, in Seattle too, opposite Freddie's apartment. They've lived together ever since their mom died and their dad went away to serve in the Navy. We're an unbeatable team, we three, and I suppose they have some things I don't have and I have some things they don't have, and that's why we work so well together. So even though you've been absent, I still have a semblance of a good life. There are still so many questions I have for you, and some I don't want to find the answer to, but I guess you won't be able to answer. If your wife hadn't looked us up to tell us about the funeral, I may have gone my whole life without missing you. Is it nice, there in heaven? I hope so. Maybe one day when I go there, I'll see you and we can finally talk. But now, I've got to go to work. Things are quite tight now, so I've taken a job at my favourite hangout, Groovy Smoothie. Have you been to one of those before? The pay is okay, but my favourite part is the employee's smoothies discount.

Well, I guess that's it then. I don't know what you were expecting (well, I supposed you weren't expecting anything at all, were you?), but I hope I didn't disappoint.

Your daughter,

Sam P.

* * *

A/N: Hey everyone. I can't believe it's already December. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the fic. I probably have a few tense errors in there, so if you can pick them out and tell me about them, that'd be wondertasticmazinful. Merry Christmas!

-Cass


End file.
